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I had another good talk with J yesterday, though I kept breaking off into tangents.
It’s always good to be honest, and honesty doesn’t usually go hand in hand with an eating disorder. However, we both told eachother we had mixed emotions about living together. As our dietician has told me time and again, it could end up being a great thing, or it could be a sh*t storm.
My weekend was not great. I felt out of control and completely in my eating disorder. I didn’t know how to get out of it. Once the work week started, I went back into “recovery mode,” as structure is good for me.
My therapist called me yesterday afternoon to check in, and I told her I felt better about recovery, but still apprehensive about living with J. This whole situation sucks: her body composition triggers the heck out of me, yet we have so much in common it’s inevitable we will become friends. So except for the whole ED thing (which of course is a big deal), it’s the ideal roommate situation.
Ugh.
So I sent J an email, suggesting maybe we check in once a week with how we’re doing, and what support we might need from each other. She agreed, as long as we have the usual parameters of abstaining from talk about calories, weights, workouts, and foods (well, the food part is hard since we cook together sometimes, but you know what I mean.) So it’s a start. Time will tell, I guess.
I’m on track to eat 100% today. Actually, more than that, as I ate double for my snack just now. In Jess’ words, “I’m hungreeeeee!”
Mixed reviews have come in regarding the living situation. Therapist still thinks it will work, but will only give me till Halloween to be fully back on track. If I’m still struggling, I need to move out or as J to leave.
The girls in my support group think it’s a horrible idea to live with her (though in my defense, I had NO IDEA she had an ED when A and I asked her to move in. If I’d known, I’d never have wanted her as a roommate), and they think I should move out immediately.
My thoughts? I think it will work. Granted, yesterday sucked in the eating department, but today is a new day. Yes, I think it will be harder with her around, but not impossible. We get along so well already, and I think the prospect of moving out of an otherwise great environment will help motivate me to get back into gear.
What do you think? What safeguards should I have? Or should I call it a wash and move on? Why?
Last week was hell.
Besides being constantly hungry and sick from a plethora of caffeine and next to no food, my mind was playing insane tricks on me.
Living with an anorexic is hard, when one is trying to resist anorexia.
I had emergency sessions with my therapist and dietician. I tried to eat but couldn’t get above 40% of my meal plan. I was going downhill.
Time for reinforcements in the forms of my best friend and boyfriend.
I came up with a goal. If I was not FULLY back on track by Thanksgiving, I would move out. I have no idea where I’d move, but the goal was to provide motivation, and not actually have to relocate.
The prospect of moving has propelled me to eat. 60-ish% on Saturday. 75% yesterday. And I’m aiming for 100% today.
Let’s get this straight. I don’t want to eat. I want to starve. I want to “be thin” (whatever that means). I want to look like her.
But I can’t always get what I want.
My previous post was titled “Throwing in the Towel.” The premise being, of course, that I had given up. Eating disorder, take me away.
Thankfully, that thought process has changed. Unfortunately, the behaviors have not.
I took last Friday off in order to help a friend get everything ready for her wedding (yup, the dress-doesn’t-fit wedding.) I had a few hours of down time before the rehearsal, so I went to the gym for a bit. As I came back home, I found one of my roommates in the kitchen. She asked if we could talk.
I had no idea what it was about. Since rent was due that day, I thought I had written the check for the wrong amount.
Wrong. Oh, so wrong.
Long story short, my roommate discovered I had been using behaviors again. How naïve I was to think that in such close quarters, she would never be privy to my secrets. She wasn’t upset or mad at me, but she was deeply concerned.
She cried. She predicted my death. She expressed her worry. She, again, predicted my death.
I was shocked. Mortified. Exposed. Embarrassed. So many emotions were flooding my mind at once.
I didn’t know what to say but “Thank you.” Seriously, how could I not be in gratitude to someone who cared so much as to do the most awkward thing: confront me about my bulimia?
I was supposed to tell her what she can do to help – eat with her? Figure out some accountability thing? — but I couldn’t think of a damn thing. So I used the trick I knew best – avoidance. I was afraid to go home for lunch because I was so scared of what she’ll be thinking.
I recounted everything to my therapist last night, and admitted that I’m just not in a good place, emotionally speaking. I’m lonely. I’m holding on to unhealthy people for dear life because I feel that is all I have.
Then my roommate – a really great person – reaches out for friendship on multiple occasions, and I dismiss it. because it feels scary. Because she… is there. at home. Around me. and my behaviors.
Change is scary, period. And I have been going through a lot of physical and social changes over the past 6 months. Part of me almost rather stay in the position I am in – relapsing, dating a guy who I don’t see a future with, having my only close friend in the state be a complete party-er, etc etc etc – because it involves no risk.
But on the other side, there are potential friendships, a life without an eating disorder, and a future (as opposed to a dead end). It involves some scary stuff, and some needed risk. It involves vulnerability and community.
But something tells me it’s worth it.
I went on a date(!!) on Friday. Lately, my dating life has consisted of boys who are my age or older and live with their parents. Or, you know, have interesting ideas for acceptable restaurants for a first date.
This one seems different. Which, clearly, means he’ll never call again. Not that I’m pessimistic or anything.
We parted ways at the passenger side of my car. I walked over to my (beloved) Matrix, and opened the door, to be greeted with this little present:
I yelled to the boy, “Ummm… ummm… come over here?” Clearly, I need to work on my vocab skills.
Since I am the epitome of a girl when it comes to cars, I needed him to explain what had happened.
An attempted hotwire job. That’s what happened.
Well, crap.
Luckily, the car was able to run, so I drove it home, with the compartments and wires constantly hitting my shins. I’m now working with the police and insurance agency to get everything fixed, but it’s looking like everything will cost me at least $1000 big ones. Hooray.
The next day, I posted sarcastic comments related to the event on Facebook, and talked to my parents and friends about the incident with as much humor and optimism as possible. But I slept a lot more than usual, which is my sign that I’m depressed.
I was depressed. I felt violated.
My car is a weird extension of myself. I spend so much time in there, and I’m protective of it. It’s the first car I bought myself, and I was so proud of that fact. To have someone in it, without my permission, was so disturbing to me. Add in the cost and time that this will take, and it equals to a very stressed and morose Veronica.
I just want it to go away, but of course it has to take its course. Time for a quick run to relieve the oh-so-wonderful stress that’s pent up.
Every year, my church does a very large Easter production at the local fairgrounds. I’m usually against theatrics, but this isn’t meant to necessarily pull at emotional heartstrings. It’s meant to draw one into a personal relationship with the living God (and that’s as preachy as I’ll get with this post. Promise.)
An amazing drama involving dance of some sort is usually inserted, and this year was no exception. Click on the video… now.
So the point of the video is simple: Jesus makes our doldrum lives brighter. Clearer. Fascinating. Etc.
And yet. I couldn’t help but relate this to recovery.
Before going into treatment, I was a space cadet. Like the painters painting the same spot over and over, I was just trying to survive. And many times, I would have to read the same sentence multiple times in order to halfway understand the point. I was a zombie. But (said my eating disorder), at least I was thin.
During treatment, and for a few months after, I saw the green paint. The bright, green paint. And I was overjoyed. I was totally signed on to this recovery thing. I was still holding on as tight as possible to my meal plan and being as rigid as humanly possible. I did my homework every night and ate, drank, breathed, and slept treatment. But I saw the green. I felt alive.
Now, the paint is everywhere, in all different colors. Food tastes better. Heck, food has a taste, period! I get upset and can feel my feelings. I get emotional when I’m happy. I am successful in my job.
I see the colors.
In August, I went to dinner with a good friend of mine. We sat outdoors overlooking the Long Beach harbor, taking in the fresh air and beautiful views. While imbibing on red wine and feasting on ceviche, my friend and I talked about many topics, including – of course – treatment and dating.
My time in intensive outpatient treatment was winding down, and I felt good enough to start eating meals at restaurants off meal plan (i.e. “intuitive eating”). And I felt I needed more interaction away from treatment friends, so why not go on a few dates? That night, I subscribed to two dating sites.
Oh, boy.
So the last guy I went out with turned out to be a disaster, and I relapsed. So while I maintained my subscription to both sites, I didn’t do much with either of them for a while. It’s my MO… when things get tough, just run from them. But as I got better and the eating disorder continued to be a non-issue, I decided to ramp up the online dating game.
Because of this, I have learned something about myself that I always knew, but never wanted to fully admit.
Hi. I’m [HatingED], and I’m an addict.
I’ve been addicted to food. I’ve been addicted to restricting food. I’ve had problems with alcohol. And now, I have a love affair with receiving attention from men.
I think I’m more ashamed of this fact than I am about the fact that I had (HAD! PAST TENSE!) bulimia.
I’ve been on a few dates with a few different guys. None of them went well. But I craved their attention nonetheless. I still flirted. I still gauged MY self worth on THEIR perception of me. And on one date, I cross boundaries I had firmly set for myself purely because saying “no” is not in my vocabulary (though this has to do with past trauma issues and is now being addressed.)
In a completely off topic note, the administrative assistant across the hall from me is loudly talking on the phone about pole dancing. Okay.
The good news is that I see myself growing. I am working on my issues with my friends and therapist and (finally) God, and am not proverbiably beating myself up about my weaknesses. Plus, my therapist is The Awesome. However, it’s tough recovering from one debilitating illness and thinking things are so much better, only to learn that I have another crutch that I use to cope through life with.
Have you noticed other “coping mechanisms” pop up as you start to recover? Also, how have you dealt with dating or men while in recovery (or if you aren’t in recovery, how do you deal with dating in general?)
I haven’t relapsed.
And I’m not going to.
Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way.
This has been a tough few weeks. The trigger doesn’t matter (and is a bit too personal to blog about, as I’m still working through it myself), but I will say that it started with a seemingly “normal” therapy session that ended up delving into some incredibly difficult material. I held it together, or so I thought, for a day or two. Then, I cracked.
Binge.
Purge.
Binge.
Purge.
Restrict.
Run.
Purge.
Repeat.
I felt like I was on autopilot, as though there was no way in hell to stop me from performing those actions. And I was fighting, hard, to stop.
That was the difference between the past few weeks of behaviors, and my previous relapse. I could not give a shit before. Now, I want to curb the behaviors and get back on the path of recovery like no other.
I called my therapist. I called my dietician. I made extra appointments with each. I asked for prayer. I prayed. I wrote. I went back on my meal plan.
I slipped. More than I would have liked.
But then I got back up.
I’m still on my meal plan, except when I go out to eat. But this past weekend, which provided many instances in which a meal plan just wasn’t going to happen, gave me the confidence that I could begin to (slowly) eat intuitively again. Without restricting, or feeling the need to binge or purge. I’m back on track, with some reservations.
Perseverance is difficult, but worth it
You know the spot that is between a rock and a hard place? I have another word for that.
Recovery.
Don’t get me wrong. I love being in recovery. I love the physical, emotional, and social benefits. But sometimes…
… it’s just, plain, hard.
This last week has been odd. I have been obsessed with my weight and body. I have wanted to restrict, purge, and even binge (which is something I rarely did). I never actually did those behaviors, but actually thinking about those things put me in some negative moods.
I talked about it with my therapist, who reminded me of some important points:
- I got out of my relapse in record time. She actually never saw someone go into recovery so swiftly. Therefore, there are bound to be bumps in the road.
- Kind of in the same light, I only just came back into recovery. It hasn’t barely been a month that I have been exercising and eating intuitively. I can’t expect the thoughts to go away.
- There will be good days, bad days, and worse days. But the fact that I’m not engaging in my behaviors is key.
- I’m simply not recovered yet.
It’s the last point that kills me. I want to be recovered. Now. Yesterday. Already. I want to be done with this eating disorder, with the thoughts, with the consumption.
Do you ever have seasons like this, where you are in a good spot, but then suddenly the ED thoughts try to consume you? What do you do to get out of your head? Leave a comment!
There has been an ongoing theme, lately, in my therapy sessions: my issues with my mom.
I have an odd relationship with my parents. Maybe it’s part of being an only child. I was raised to act like a little adult, which created an independent (and stubborn) spirit in me, yet was still held on a rather tight leash. Now that I’m an adult with an established career, living a comfortable distance from them, they still want a hold of the reigns, while being as emotionally negligent as possible.
Still with me? Bottom line: my mother wants to know everything going on in my life. I don’t trust her. And she has no concept of offering physical or emotional affection or praise.
A lot of this has come out in the trauma work my therapist and I have worked on. Not that my parents have caused any of the past trauma or abuse in my life – far from it. They don’t even know about the 4th of July incident. But there have been aftershocks because of some of these incidents that have caused my trust in my mom to be severely destroyed.
Now that we are essentially closing the chapter on the trauma work, my therapist and I are focusing on my issues with my mom.
I’d rather spend my entire life talking about the rapes.
We talked about letting go of my ideal mother. The mom I want. The mom who listens and praises and offers encouragement and advice. I don’t want to let go of that. I am in serious grieving mode right now. I have been texting and calling my mom more than usual, hoping that I can “fix” her.
I can’t.
My mom will never be the parent I want her to be, or need her to be. However, I live my life trying to find ways to fill that empty hole. For me, that looks like acting in my eating disorder (if I can’t have a mom I want, I can numb myself out instead), or engaging in promiscuous behavior (trying to have a guy fill the void). The key, now, is to find out how to engage in the world in a healthy manner, accepting I did not have the ideal childhood or adolesense, and using healthy coping skills.
Easier said than done, to be sure.
Have your parents left emotional voids? How do you deal with those, be it positively or negatively? Leave a comment!
